Hostage Situation
by Deana
Summary: Aramis is taken hostage to trade for a criminal's brother, but things get much worse when things happen beyond their control that could get Aramis killed. (Modern AU, sequel to 'Trapped' and my entry in the January 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest!)
1. Chapter 1

**HOSTAGE SITUATION**  
A Musketeers modern AU story

Sequel to 'Trapped'.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Achoo!"

"God bless you."

* _sniff_ * "Thanks." * _yawn_ *

"You should take a nap."

Aramis looked at Porthos. "A nap? In a moving vehicle? I'll sleep in my comfortable bed; we're not far from home."

Porthos shrugged. "But you can't keep your eyes open."

Aramis suddenly realized that he'd closed them, so he quickly reopened them again. "Can too."

"Can not!" d'Artagnan quipped.

"It's still two hours away, Aramis," Porthos countered.

Aramis yawned again.

Treville glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove the NYPD prisoner transport van down Interstate 95S from Rhode Island to New York City. He could see that Aramis still looked pale and he wasn't surprised. They'd extradited a prisoner to Rhode Island and then been unexpectedly stuck there when a hurricane had changed direction and hit them. Not only did Aramis also have a nasty cold, but he'd accidentally suffered a drug interaction when an ingredient in the cold medicine interacted with his thyroid pill and caused a dangerous heart arrhythmia. He was hospitalized for two days until his heartbeat had returned to normal.*

"Achoo!"

"Listen to Porthos," Athos spoke up from the front passenger seat.

"At least lie down," Porthos said. "You can use me as a pillow."

"Aww, how nice of you," Aramis joked, shooting him a smile. He knew how badly his friends were worried about him, and he didn't blame them at all...watching his heart rate shoot up to 160 on the monitor had been frightening. He looked out the window and saw that they were approaching the Connecticut border. The scenery flashing by was hypnotic, and he found his eyes closing again.

A hand wrapped itself around his back and pulled him sideways. Aramis submitted and found his head lying on a blanket.

"Sleep," Porthos told him.

Aramis closed his eyes, and dozed off to the gentle motion of the vehicle.

Athos turned around in his seat and nodded at Porthos, who'd put the blanket on his lap to serve as a pillow.

Porthos gave him a thumbs-up.

The rest of the ride was mostly spent in silence, so as not to disturb Aramis, who eventually woke groggy and slightly confused after Treville got off the highway.

"We're we?" he slurred.

"Back in New York City," Porthos told him.

Aramis blinked bleary eyes, lifting his head and pulling himself upright to look out the window. "Finally!"

Minutes later, they were walking into Aramis' apartment. Without a word, he walked straight into his bedroom and plopped down onto his bed.

The others followed, and Athos pulled Aramis' sneakers off while Porthos covered him with a blanket.

"Mank fru," Aramis said, his words of gratitude made muffled by the pillow.

Porthos ruffled Aramis' hair with a chuckle and they left the room. "That's _him_ down for the count," he told the others.

Treville nodded, closing the door behind them before pulling out his cellphone and dialing a well-used number as he headed to sit on the couch. "Hello," he said. "I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. Harris for tomorrow...Aramis D'Herblay. Did you receive a fax from Newport Hospital in Rhode Island? Good. Yes, ten o'clock is fine. Thanks." He hung up and glanced at Aramis' closed door before looking at the others with a sigh. "That boy is turning my hair gray all by himself."

"Not on purpose, though," said Porthos.

The others nodded somberly.

Treville sighed again and stood. "The chief wanted to see me once we got Aramis settled." He looked at d'Artagnan. "And _you're_ coming with me; we want to get your health insurance set up with the department, now that you're an official employee...though I hope you won't use it as much as Aramis does!"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I hope not too!"

"We'll come back later with takeout," Treville told the others.

"Or we can order pizza," Porthos suggested.

Treville nodded. "Good idea. See you later."

D'Artagnan waved and they both left.

Porthos turned to Athos, who was stirring sugar into two glasses of iced coffee on the kitchen island. He went over and sat on the barstool facing him and sighed. "That has me thinking," he said.

"What does?" Athos asked, sliding one of the glasses over.

Porthos sighed. "I wonder how many thousands of dollars our health insurance has had to pay out for Aramis." He said it without humor, lifting the glass to drink.

Athos drank some of his own before saying, "Hundreds of thousands."

They both looked at Aramis' door, and Athos went over and opened it.

Aramis was still lying in the same position, fast asleep.

"Maybe we should get him a guide dog."

Athos looked at Porthos, as if that had been the last thing he'd expected him to say.

Porthos smiled slightly. "You know, a dog trained to notice when something is medically wrong with its owner. Yeah I know, not very funny."

"A _little_ funny," they heard.

Porthos winced at Aramis' voice. "Sorry for waking you."

Aramis yawned and sat up. "Not your fault; I should've gone to the bathroom before lying down."

The others watched as their friend weaved a stumbly walk.

"What kind of dog do you want?" Porthos called through the door, only half-joking.

"Ha ha," Aramis answered, before sneezing. He came out a minute later and gave him a stern face. "You better not really get me a dog; I'm too busy to take care of one. Besides, you know I'm a cat person."

"Yeah, we know," Porthos answered as Aramis shuffled back towards his bed.

Athos stopped Aramis and put a hand on his forehead. "Still feverish."

"I'm fine," Aramis told him. "It's just a cold." He laid down again with a sigh of bliss. "But thank you for caring!"

Athos rolled his eyes.

"How's your chest feel?" Porthos asked.

"My heart is fine," Aramis answered. "It won't flip out again now that the medicine is out of my system. Stop worrying and let me sleep. ACHOO!"

"Fine, we're going," Porthos told him. "If you need us, yell."

"Mmm hmm."

Athos and Porthos left the room and spent the afternoon being as quiet as possible. The lack of sneezing and coughing from Aramis' room told them that he didn't wake at all, and they were glad to see him looking more rested when he got up again.

"Feeling better?" Athos asked.

"Yes," Aramis replied, sitting beside him on the couch. He reached a hand to his forehead. "No fever."

"Your own hand won't work," Porthos said, before reaching over to check himself. "Huh, you're right."

Aramis grinned.

Treville and d'Artagnan came back and they ordered pizza and chicken wings, before eventually forcing Aramis to go back to bed.

"But I'm much better," he complained.

"You're barely recovered from the arrhythmia," Treville told him. "Don't be hasty; you need to rest."

"I'm taking a shower first," Aramis answered.

"Bath," said Athos. "Not a shower."

"I'm not gonna slip," Aramis said.

" _Please_ ," said Treville. "After what just happened to your heart, can't you humor us?"

D'Artagnan decided to throw in his two cents. "It _was_ pretty scary."

" _Very_ scary," Porthos clarified.

Aramis sighed theatrically...though the effect was ruined when it made him cough. "Fine * _cough_ * I'll take * _cough_ * a bath…that sounds kinda good, actually."

"Thank you," said Athos.

Less than an hour later, Aramis was clean and sleeping in his bed on fresh sheets.

All four of the others stared at him from the doorway.

"I think _our_ hearts can calm down now," said Treville.

Porthos sighed. "I sure hope so."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis woke coughing a few times overnight, and at nine o'clock the next morning, Porthos—who'd stayed over in case Aramis needed him—reluctantly woke him.

"Huh what?"

"You have to get up," Porthos told him. "You have a doctor's appointment that we didn't tell you about."

"Oh you're _kidding_ me," Aramis moaned. He rolled his face into his pillow and mumbled something else.

"What was that?"

"I'm so sick of doctors and hospitals," Aramis repeated.

Porthos nodded. Aramis definitely had more than his fair share lately. "I know. You have to go, though."

Aramis sighed, which made him cough.

"Come on," Porthos said, whacking him on the arm.

Aramis reluctantly obeyed, and by 10am, they were sitting in Dr. Harris' office.

"I am so profusely sorry," Harris told him. "The trouble with thyroid medication is that it's hard to regulate a patient's dose at first...it often takes around six months to get it right. Your first blood test after starting the medicine had your TSH level down from 43 to 7, which is much better but still too high. The optimal range is 1.5 to 2, so I raised your dosage as you know." He held up the lab report from Newport Hospital. "But according to this, your TSH was under 0 that day. If you hadn't taken the Mucinex, you wouldn't have known there was an issue until your scheduled blood test next week and I would simply have adjusted your dosage again." He sighed. "I'm so sorry."

Aramis shook his head. "No reason; you didn't do anything wrong and it's not your fault that I caught a cold!"

Harris reluctantly nodded and picked up a syringe. "I'm sure this is the last thing you want to hear...but I need more blood."

Aramis gave a theatrical sigh, but it made him cough.

Harris waited until he was finished. "I can see why you took the Mucinex."

"Is there anything at all that he can take?" Porthos asked.

Harris shook his head as Aramis rolled up his sleeve. "I don't want him to take _anything_ right now...it's not worth the risk."

The others were silent as Harris took Aramis' blood.

"With the original dose too low," said Treville. "But the second dose too high, how will you remedy that?"

"He was taking 50mcg at first," said Harris, taping a cotton ball over the hole in Aramis' arm. "Which is a low dose, especially with such a high TSH, so I rose it to 75, which somehow proved to be too much. I'll start him on 50 again once his thyroid swings back to hypo and then go from there." He looked at Aramis. "You might eventually end up alternating days with 50 and 75."

"Complicated," said Porthos. "That's our Aramis!"

"ACHOO!" was Aramis' reply.

"It sounds like someone's bedtime," Harris joked.

The four friends left the hospital and Aramis was soon napping at home again.

The next week passed slowly for him as he recovered, and he was very happy the day that he was allowed to return to work.

"How are you feeling?" Treville asked him after he walked into the door.

"I'm feeling fine and ready to catch some badguys!" Aramis told him, rubbing his hands together eagerly and sitting at his desk.

"We caught one while you were out," said Athos. "Bobby Madison."

Aramis had raised his cup of hazelnut coffee to his lips, and nearly choked on it. "Bobby Madison?!"

"Yup!" said Porthos. "Aren't you proud?"

Aramis was stunned. Bobby Madison was the brother of crime boss Biff Madison, a man responsible for most of the local crime, from murders to drug deals. "How did you do that and why didn't you tell me?"

"On Wednesday, someone left an anonymous tip that he was flying out of NY on Friday morning, so we went in and grabbed him," Treville answered. "After what happened with your heart, I _forbade_ them to tell you; I didn't want you worrying while you were still recovering."

Aramis understood, _slightly._ "Was there any shooting?" Treville was right that he would've worried.

"No," Athos told him.

Aramis was relieved. "Did he divulge anything?"

"Nothin'," Porthos told him. "At all."

Aramis took another sip of his coffee, swinging his chair from side to side as he thought. "Does he want anything in exchange for info?"

Treville shook his head. "No, he simply refuses to talk."

Aramis licked his lips and put his mug down. "Biff might try something to get him out, especially if he has cops on his payroll."

Treville sighed. "I wouldn't be surprised. There are two guards at Bobby's cell at all times...I'm hoping that if one of them _is_ on Biff's payroll, the other one _won't_ be."

For Aramis, the day was filled with catching up on paperwork. It was an easy day—which he expected from Treville after what he'd been through lately—and when it was almost time to leave, he opened one of his drawers and saw the bottle of thyroid pills that he'd left there in case he forgot to take one some day before coming to work. They were the original 50mcg strength, so he figured he should take them home so he'd have them once the doctor gave him the okay to start taking them again.

Everyone went their separate ways after work, and Aramis pulled into his apartment's parking spot and got out of his car. Before he even had a chance to set the alarm, something suddenly slammed into the side of his head, but before he could fall, hands grabbed him and started dragging him away.

Aramis' head was spinning and splitting with awful pain but he struggled in the men's grasp. His efforts were weak and uncoordinated, and he felt blood drip down his temple.

A car door opened and he was pushed inside to lie on the floor. He fumbled for his gun, but it was gone.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," someone said.

The muzzle of a gun pressed against the wound on his head and Aramis winced. "Biff?" he said.

His answer was a chuckle.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I wonder why he's late."

Athos looked at Porthos. "Why do you worry over everything? He probably overslept. Yesterday was his first day back."

Porthos sighed. "But I texted him and got no answer."

"Which may confirm my assumption that he's still asleep," said Athos.

Porthos looked at his phone again, to the texted "Sup?" that had no reply from his friend under it. "I just feel like somethin's wrong."

Athos opened his mouth to answer, when Porthos' phone suddenly rang.

"There he is," said Porthos, with relief. It was a video call and he clicked it. "What the?!" he exclaimed.

Athos went over to see what was wrong, and was shocked to see none other than Biff Madison on the other end.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Biff. "Are you missing something? Or rather, some _one_?" The phone shifted to show Aramis tied to a chair, with blood in his messed-up hair. His head was lowered and he made no reaction.

Porthos jumped to his feet. "What have you done to him?!" he shouted.

"Temper, temper," said Biff, his face filling the screen again. "He's fine—for now."

"What do you want?" said Athos, though it seemed obvious.

"That's a pretty stupid question," said Biff. "My brother, what else? We'll make a nice, even trade; your brother for mine." He turned to Aramis for a second before looking back at the phone and shrugging. "Well, _your_ guy might be in a couple more pieces."

"If you hurt a hair on his head, I'll kill you!" said Porthos.

"Another stupid thing to say, since it's obvious that we _already_ hurt him," said Biff. "You detectives aren't very bright, are you?"

"Madison," said Captain Treville, who'd come out of his office at Porthos' yells. "You know that we can't trade your brother."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," said Biff. The phone was suddenly aiming at the floor as Biff appeared to walk somewhere, and then the phone moved up to show Aramis again. Biff's hand suddenly entered the picture as it grabbed Aramis' hair and yanked.

Aramis made a sound of surprise, showing the others that he was conscious. His eyes were closed with a wince, and he reopened them when Biff let go of his hair.

A gun suddenly appeared, shoved against the wound on Aramis' head again.

"You sure you can't make the trade?" Biff's voice said.

"We won't do _anything_ if you kill him!" said Treville.

Biff laughed and pushed Aramis' head with the gun, making Aramis wince again. "I knew you'd change your tune. I'll call you back in an hour; you'd better have good news for me."

"Wait!" said Porthos, but it was too late; Biff had hung up. He looked around for his keys before grabbing them and sprinting for the door.

"Porthos!" said Athos, grabbing him before he could leave. "We don't even know where Aramis is!"

Porthos looked at him, breathing heavily. His panic calmed just enough for him to think like a cop again, and he moved away from the door and plopping down into his chair.

"We need to think clearly," said Treville. "I know you're upset and scared; I am too, but we need to do this right if we're to get Aramis back alive."

At those words, Porthos dropped his face into his hands. "Look at what he's been though lately!" he exclaimed. "And now _this_?"

Athos sighed and looked at Treville, just as upset but able to hide it. "What's our first move?"

"First, we tell the chief."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

"I feel obligated to tell you," said Aramis. "This will never work; we're not on TV you know."

Biff chuckled and holstered his gun.

"Come to think of it," said Aramis. "I bet you watch a lot of TV. Is that where you get criminal ideas? Which show? Hawaii Five-O? CSI? Most cop shows are full of crap, you know...scriptwriters don't know how this stuff really goes. I don't even watch cop shows anymore; they make me cringe over the inaccuracies. Actually, I like 'Salvation'...now _that's_ a great show! Did you notice that the star actor looks just like me? His character's name is even similar: he's 'Darius', and I'm 'Aramis'. Too funny!"

"Do you ever shut up?" Biff asked.

Aramis thought about it for a second. "No, actually. Where was I? Oh yeah, 'Salvation'. The actor even _sounds_ like me; it's uncanny, you should check it out."

Biff thrust his fist under Aramis' nose, forcing Aramis to cross his eyes to look at it. "Stop."

"Fine," Aramis answered. "What do _you_ wanna talk about, then?"

Biff looked at him, before shaking his head. "Don't you have a bad headache? How can you be so talkative?"

Aramis shrugged, pretending that his head wasn't throbbing. "I've always been this way; sometimes it's a curse, sometimes a gift." He squirmed his features for a second. "Though, the blood down my face _is_ itchy. I don't suppose you'd be a non-badguy for just one minute and do something about it for me?"

Biff ignored his request. "There _is_ something I'd like to talk about."

Aramis smiled. "Oh? Do tell."

"Who snitched on my brother?"

"You mean the tip we got that led to us nabbing him?" Aramis asked. "I have no idea."

Stars suddenly erupted in Aramis' vision, and it took a moment for him to open eyes that he didn't remember closing. His head throbbed with a new intensity, and the left side of his face felt bruised. "It's never a...a good idea to hit someone who...who already has a head injury," he mumbled.

Biff chuckled. "Wanna change your answer, then?"

Aramis sighed. "I'm not playing a game, I'm serious. I've been out sick since the hurricane; today was supposed to be my second day back to work. I have a better chance predicting the _next_ hurricane than knowing who tipped us off."

Biff studied him before nodding. "Fine, I believe you."

Aramis was slightly surprised. "See? I told you this isn't like TV; the badguy wouldn't have believed me if we were on TV."

"I believe you because of _this_ ," said Biff. He took a prescription bottle out of his pocket.

"Ironically, I got that _before_ I ended up in the hospital," said Aramis. "Though it _did_ play a part in the problem."

"Well you can't have any," Biff said, putting the bottle back in his pocket. "It says to take one every morning; I'm not giving it to you while you're my prisoner. You'll just have to suffer."

Aramis nodded. "That's not unexpected from a badguy." Inwardly, he sighed with relief, since he wasn't supposed to take them until his blood test showed that he needed it again anyway.

Biff shook his head. "You're funny."

"That's me," said Aramis. "Fearless in the face of danger."

"Fearless, or foolish?" said Biff. He pointed the gun against Aramis' head again. "Bang."

"Ouch."

Biff removed the gun and laughed. "Why don't you quit the force and work for _me_?"

Aramis blinked. "Wow, out of everything you could've said, I never expected _that_."

"You're a source of entertainment," said Biff. "The idiots who work for me are just that, idiots."

Aramis nodded. "Well I'm _not_ an idiot, so I'll remain a non-criminal, thanks."

Biff nodded. "Fair enough. You might not get out of this situation alive anyway."

"True," said Aramis. "There's always that, though I hope the chance is low."

"It all depends on whether I get my brother back," said Biff.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"This is how we're gonna do this," said Treville, with most of the police department crowded in the conference room. "Madison is gonna be released and we'll set up a place to make the trade. Snipers will be on adjacent roofs, with SWAT teams on the ground. Aramis is definitely injured but we won't know how badly by the time we do the trade, so whoever can get to him first, do it and get him out of there."

Everyone nodded.

"No one is to show their face," the police chief said. "Let Madison think they're getting away, and when we give the signal, you all go in and grab them both."

"And rough Biff up as much as you want," Porthos growled.

Everyone nodded, and neither the chief nor Treville protested his words.

"It's almost an hour," said Porthos.

Everyone waited for his phone to ring, and it did, two minutes later.

"Gentlemen," said Biff.

"Let us see Aramis," said Treville, taking the phone from Porthos.

Biff smirked. "Not until I get your answer; if it's 'yes', he'll be alive when you see him, but if it's 'no', he'll be dead."

"We'll make the trade, Madison," said the chief, coming to stand beside Treville. "Your brother for Aramis."

Biff smiled. "I knew you'd see it my way. Here's your boy." He turned around to show Aramis still tied to the chair, hair askew with dried blood and a new bruise on his face.

"Hey everyone," Aramis said, sounding tired. "How's your day going? Better than mine, I'm sure."

Biff pulled the phone away to show himself again. "You have a real comedian for a detective here."

"Just don't hurt him anymore," said Treville. "Your brother will be leaving the prison any minute. Take Aramis to—"

"Nope, nope," said Biff. " _I'm_ picking the site."

No one was surprised.

"And where is _that_?" Treville asked.

"A park," said Biff. "With plenty of kids around, to prevent you cops from shooting us after we make the trade."

Treville didn't let himself openly show his dismay. "That's not safe for the public, Biff, give me a break."

"Take it or leave it," said Biff. He walked over to Aramis again and pointed his gun against the wound on his head, making Aramis wince. "I can just shoot him right now, you know!"

Porthos sucked in his breath loudly, fighting not to grab the phone and scream at the guy. Athos put a calming hand on his shoulder, and d'Artagnan seemed to hardly be breathing.

"Fine," said Treville.

"Good," said Biff. "There's one a mile away from the school on Main Street. Meet us there in an hour. That should be enough time to get my brother there."

Treville nodded. "It is."

A phone in the room started ringing as they spoke, but everyone ignored it at first. When it didn't stop, one of the officers picked it up.

"Good," said Biff. "We'll see you then. Say goodbye, Aramis!" he joked.

"Bye bye!" Aramis exclaimed. "Porthos, bring me a Big Mac, I'm starving over here!"

With that, the call ended.

Treville handed the phone back to Porthos with a sigh.

"Captain!" said one of the officers. "It's for you."

Treville took the phone. "Hello?" He listened for a minute, before frowning. "What?!" His face suddenly paled and he abruptly sat, the hand holding the phone dropping onto his lap.

"What happened?!" the chief exclaimed.

"That was the prison," said Treville, eyes wide with shock. "When the prisoners found out that Madison was being released, there was a riot."

"And?" said the chief.

Treville looked at him. "They killed him; Bobby Madison is dead."

Everyone was stunned.

"Then we can't trade him for Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed. "Biff will kill him!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"This is really uncomfortable," said Aramis, squirming slightly. "Any chance you can loosen my bonds? Just a little? My hands went numb so long ago that I'm not sure if they're still there."

Biff shook his head at him. "You say the dumbest things. You know I'm not gonna do a single thing to help you."

"Well it doesn't hurt to ask," Aramis said. He studied Biff for a minute before saying, "Your brother is younger than you."

Biff nodded. "Yes."

"He followed in your footsteps."

Biff frowned. "We work together, always have. Why?"

"It's just surprising," said Aramis. "Wouldn't you want to _protect_ your brother from all this?"

A shadow crossed Biff's face. "It's his own choice."

"You couldn't stop him?" said Aramis. "This kind of life can get someone killed."

"I know!" Biff exclaimed. "But it's too late for me."

"But is it too late for _him_?" said Aramis.

"It _will_ be if I don't get him outta that prison in an hour," Biff said.

"He's still a criminal," said Aramis. "It's too late to start protecting him _now_."

Instead of answering, Biff launched his fist into Aramis' stomach. "Don't you think I know that?!" he shouted. He turned the gun around in his hand and whacked Aramis across the face with it. "Do you know what he wanted to be when he grew up?"

Aramis' head was hanging as he gasped for air, watching new drops of blood fall to the floor.

"A cop!" Biff exclaimed. "When he was a kid, he wanted to be a cop! A COP! He's supposed to be one of the GOOD guys!"

"It's…your…fault…" Aramis stupidly mumbled.

"Yes," Biff admitted. "It's _my_ fault that he's on the wrong side of the law. It's too late for me, but I won't let it be too late for _him_. You cops will _never_ get your hands on him again after today. He'll have a new identity and he'll walk right by you on the street without you knowing. How do you like _that_?"

Aramis closed his eyes when a dizzy wave of nausea swept over him. "We're supposed to…take care of…our family."

"That's right," said Biff. "And _you_ ain't my family, so if you wanna live, then _shut up_."

Aramis knew that Biff couldn't kill him if he wanted to see his brother again…neither of them knowing, of course, that Bobby was already dead. "You need me alive," he said. "So I'm gonna talk anyway."

Biff threw his arms up into the air with a, "Ha!" of annoyance.

Another dizzy spell overcame Aramis, and he winced, reclosing his eyes when he felt like he was floating. "Well…maybe not." If he didn't have a concussion before, he definitely did _now_.

Biff walked away and looked at his phone to see the time, but was surprised when it rang, displaying Porthos' number. He clicked the Facetime. "What?"

"There's been a delay," said Treville.

"Oh no no no," said Biff, walking back to Aramis and putting the gun to his head, holding the phone out far enough for Treville to see both of them. "You're pulling something! I'm gonna shoot him!"

"Wait!" said Treville. "Listen to me! There was a riot at the prison; they locked it down. It's completely unrelated," he lied. "It'll just take a little longer."

Biff wasn't sure whether or not to believe him, but he knew that if he killed Aramis before the exchange, he would never see his brother again. "You don't have much time!"

"Please," said Treville. "You'll see your brother soon! Wait for my call. It shouldn't be long, I swear."

"I'll be counting down the seconds," said Biff. He gestured with his chin to Aramis, who still had his head down. "And _he_ will, too." With that, he hung up.

Treville sighed as he put down Porthos' phone. No one but him had seen that Aramis had been further mistreated, and he decided to keep it to himself for now.

"Did you see Aramis?" said Porthos. "How did he look?"

So much for _that_ idea. "Yes, I saw him. He was bleeding again…it looks like Biff might've pistol-whipped him."

"I'll kill Biff myself!" Porthos exclaimed.

" _Before_ we get to that point," said Treville. "There's only one thing we can do; we need a decoy for Bobby Madison."

"Who do you have in mind?" asked Athos, before he suddenly realized.

D'Artagnan blinked when half of the faces in the room swiveled to look at him. "Um," he said.

"It has to be you," said Treville. "You have the closest height and build."

"Me," d'Artagnan said, his face paling.

Treville nodded, and Athos waited for the kid to panic.

"Okay," d'Artagnan said.

Treville and Athos looked at each other, slightly surprised that it had been that easy.

"I won't say that I'm not scared," said d'Artagnan. "But I almost killed Aramis in that car accident the day we met*…this is my chance to _save_ his life instead. I owe him."

Porthos grabbed him in a one-armed hug. "You'll do fine, I know you will."

D'Artagnan gave him a shaky smile.

"We need the clothes that Madison was wearing when he was captured," said Athos.

Treville nodded. "You and Porthos educate d'Artagnan on Bobby Madison; quickly. Show him videos of how he walks, let him hear his voice; the works."

They nodded and herded d'Artagnan out of the room.

Treville sent a couple of officers to the prison for the clothes, and then he dialed Biff.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis was in pain…a _lot_ of pain. His head was throbbing mercilessly and a ringing had invaded his ears. _Hit on the head and knocked out yesterday,_ he thought. _Punched in the face twice today…no, once, and then pistol whipped. Oh joy. OW it hurts…ow ow ow ow ow!_

Sounds invaded his senses, but he was too out-of-it to notice much. He heard voices and then a sudden ringing that made him groan aloud.

"Of course he's still alive," Madison said, after Aramis missed the beginning of the conversation. "He's not very healthy at the moment though, which will get even worse if it takes anymore time to get my brother back."

"The prison assured me that it won't be much longer," said Treville. "Instead of two o'clock, meet us at four."

Aramis heard footsteps and felt the gun placed to his head again. He was too dizzy to react.

"One minute _after_ four, and your boy dies, Treville," said Biff. "And I'm not bluffing."

"We'll be there," said Treville. "With your brother."

"You'd better," said Biff, before hanging up. "Did you hear that, cop?"

Aramis tried to lift his head, but it was too heavy. He settled for saying, "Mmm," instead.

Biff chuckled. "Not so talkative now, are you?" He reached out and shoved Aramis' head.

Aramis had no time to feel the pain before passing right out.

TBC

*'Backfired': story ID 12486920


	3. Chapter 3

The officers who went to the prison for Bobby Madison's clothes returned quickly, courtesy of their siren. They fit d'Artagnan after he added a belt, and they left the station on their way to the park.

Not one minute later, it began to rain.

"This is perfect," said Treville. "There won't be any kids at the playground by the time we arrive!"

"Good, then we can shoot Biff," said Porthos.

"If _necessary_ ," said Treville. "You won't be any good to Aramis if you're arrested for murder."

Porthos grumbled.

The rain picked up and grew steady, and when they arrived, there wasn't a single child in the park. They got out, keeping d'Artagnan behind them.

"Madison!" Treville exclaimed.

"We're here," Biff's voice called out. "Bobby! You there?"

"Yeah!" d'Artagnan shouted back, hoping that he sounded enough like him.

"What's the code?" Biff yelled.

Everyone looked at each other in shock. What code?

"I know nothing!" d'Artagnan replied.

"Good!" Biff yelled. "You actually kept your word, Treville!"

"Where is Aramis?" Treville asked, leaving the 'code' question for later.

"With us," said Biff. "Bobby, get over here."

"Not until we get Aramis," said Treville.

"You can have him when I get my brother," Biff countered. "But you can _see_ him."

With that, two men came out from behind a huge plastic fort with Aramis between them.

Being moved brought Aramis back to his senses somewhat, and he raised his head a little, wondering how they'd gotten there. It took him a moment to remember, before his heartbeat sped up with anxiety at what he last recalled…

" _Time to go get Bobby, get him up."_

 _Aramis barely noticed those words before his bonds were suddenly removed. He groaned at the pain in his wrists when the blood flowed back into his hands, and winced as he tried to bring his arms around to the front._

" _Come on," someone impatiently said, trying to tug him up from the chair that he'd been tied to seemingly forever._

 _Aramis couldn't move; the pain in his head and ribs preventing him._

 _Two sets of hands pulled him out of the chair, but Aramis couldn't lock his knees and sagged between the men._

" _Biff, maybe we should give him his medicine?" one of them said. "It might make him easier to handle."_

 _Biff looked at Aramis before taking the bottle out of his pocket. He didn't know what the pills were for and briefly considered googling it, but tossed the bottle to his men rather than waste the time. "Hurry up, Jim. We have to go." With that, he headed out the door._

 _The goon opened the pills and took two out before wondering how to go about it with the half-conscious Aramis. "Sit him down."_

 _Together, they both did, before Jim spotted an unopened bottle of water on the nearby table. He opened it and poured most of it out before dropping the pills in._

" _Do you think two are enough?" said the other man. "Maybe we should give him more. It might wake him up, and then we won't have to drag him around."_

 _Jim nodded and put two more pills in the bottle, before holding it to Aramis' lips. "Hey, drink this."_

 _Aramis had no idea what was going on, and his thirsty body reacted to the water by quickly drinking it. He felt the pills go down and his eyes popped open. "What was in that?!" he asked._

" _Four of your pills," said Jim. "We gave you extra because we don't wanna carry your hide all over the place."_

 _A feeling of fear and dread washed over Aramis, but he fought not to show it. Why four?! Did they assume they were painkillers and were too stupid to read the instructions on the bottle?! The last thing he wanted them to know was that an overdose of his thyroid medicine was dangerous…Biff could make him swallow the whole bottle in a murder attempt._

 _A few seconds later, a feeling of nausea washed over him and he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes._

" _Oh crap," said a voice, and the hands let go of him._

 _Aramis almost laughed, wondering if he'd turned green or something, but he was too busy clamping his mouth shut to care._

 _A minute later, the feeling subsided, and Aramis relaxed, before realizing that he'd just denied his body the chance to get rid of the pills._

" _You good?" one of the men said._

 _Aramis felt very dizzy, especially when the man said the same thing that Porthos would've, momentarily confusing him in his concussed state._

 _Hands touched him again and pulled him from the chair, supporting him through the room and out the door._

" _The pills aren't helping yet," one of the men said._

 _Aramis sighed. If they only knew._

"We'll send them both at the same time," Biff exclaimed, bringing Aramis' mind back to the present.

"He doesn't look like he can walk," Treville said. "One of my men comes with your brother. Leave Aramis there and back up ten feet."

"Fine!" Biff shouted.

Aramis closed his eyes when he was suddenly shifted to sit on the end of the playground's slide. He briefly wondered why Biff was being so cooperative, but he knew that he had no choice if he wanted his brother back safely…Aramis just didn't like the fact that they were actually releasing Bobby Madison.

Aramis' mind drifted, until hands suddenly grabbed him.

"Come on, Aramis, let's go!"

Porthos.

Aramis opened his eyes and tried to speak, but he was picked up and dashed away.

Guns started shooting, and Aramis wondered why.

"You tricked me!" Biff shouted. "Where's my brother?!"

More gunshots answered him, and Aramis groaned as the sounds increased the pain in his head.

"Aramis? Aramis?"

The voice sounded far away, and it took a minute of trying before Aramis could open his eyes. He blinked his eyes to bring his vision into focus, and found Captain Treville peering into his face. "Cap'n," he slurred.

Treville smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "Thank God! Keep those eyes open, now."

Aramis tried to look around, finding himself slumped against the passenger seat of a police SUV. It took him a few seconds to realize that there were no more gunshots. "Porthos?" he asked, grabbing Treville's arm. He was used to his friend never leaving his side when he was injured, so if Porthos wasn't there, did it mean that he was injured too?

Treville nodded. "Everyone's fine, take it easy. I sent him and Athos to find d'Artagnan, who had to hide. It's a long story. Well, not _that_ long, but you don't look able to process much right now. An ambulance is almost here."

Aramis said nothing else; eyes sliding shut before drifting open again. "You...shouldn't have."

"Shouldn't have what?"

"Traded."

Treville shook his head. "We didn't. Just relax; you'll be fine and we'll explain it all to you later when you're more aware."

 _Why can't you tell me now?_ Aramis thought to himself, thinking that he'd said it aloud.

"Aramis? Wake up."

A lightheaded feeling invaded his brain, and Aramis realized that his eyes were closed. When had that happened? He didn't want to go to sleep, even though it would be a respite from the pain. He suddenly realized that there was something important that he had to tell Treville, but couldn't remember what it was.

Treville sighed when Aramis passed out, though he wasn't very surprised. Dried blood covered the left side of his face, the wounds having stopped bleeding. It was obvious by the uneven size of his pupils that he had a concussion; the latest of many. He had no idea that Aramis had been force-fed four of the pills that he wasn't even supposed to be taking.

"How is he?" Porthos' voice suddenly said.

"Unconscious," Treville told him.

Athos and d'Artagnan appeared seconds later, and they watched as the ambulance arrived and assessed Aramis before taking him away, with Porthos going along, refusing to leave his side, as usual.

Everyone else followed, and Dr. Harris took charge of Aramis, as he always did. He found not only the concussion, but a nasty bruise on his midsection from being punched. None of his ribs were broken, but Aramis did need stitches in his head and in the skin near the side of his eye.

Aramis remained unconscious through it all.

Later, the others all sat around his bed, waiting for him to wake. When he did, they all stood and watched him, waiting for him to get his bearings.

Aramis blinked at them for a few seconds, before sluggishly raising a hand to his head. "Ow."

"You're fine," Porthos quickly said. "Just bruised and stitched."

Aramis sighed. "How long'm I stuck here?" he slurred.

"At least overnight," said Treville. "Concussion observation."

Aramis closed his eyes. "Mmm," he mumbled. A few seconds passed before his eyes flew open again. "Did they get away?!" he exclaimed.

"Biff did," said Athos.

Aramis wasn't sure if he should be surprised or not.

"Bobby was killed in a prison riot," said Porthos. "We didn't have him to trade."

Aramis was shocked. He continued to blink groggily, feeling like his head was full of cotton. He felt like he was forgetting to tell them something.

"Are you all right?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Mmm," Aramis found himself replying. He closed his eyes again and drifted off, not waking again until the middle of the night.

"Need anything?"

Aramis blinked bleary eyes, bringing Treville's face into focus. "Night?"

Treville nodded. "Yes, it's night."

"What happened to…concussion protocol?" Aramis asked.

Treville frowned a little. "You don't remember the times you were woken?"

"No."

"That's all right; you were half asleep and never said anything, unlike now. I'm sure you'll remember this one," Treville told him.

Aramis yawned, before the forgetful feeling came back to him

"What is it?" Treville asked.

"Forgot something…I think," said Aramis.

Treville's eyebrows shot up. "Like what?"

Aramis shook his aching head. "I dunno." He winced right after and raised a hand to his dizzy head.

"Keep still," said Treville.

A loud snore suddenly broke the silence, and Aramis tried to look behind Treville, who moved so he could see the others asleep in chairs, including d'Artagnan.

"He din't hafta stay," Aramis slurred.

Treville nodded, knowing that their youngest team member had police academy classes in the morning. "We couldn't make him _go_."

Aramis smiled at that. They'd known d'Artagnan for less than six months and he'd already proved to be a very loyal person…though Aramis knew that some of it was because d'Artagnan still felt guilty for almost killing him in the car crash that had led to their meeting.*

"Go back to sleep," Treville said.

Aramis closed his eyes and did just that.

Hours passed and nurses came in to wake him a few more times. Finally around noon, he decided to stay awake.

"You look a little better," said Porthos.

"I feel more alert," Aramis told them. "Was d'Artagnan there in the park?"

Athos and Porthos looked at Treville, as if knowing that Aramis was not going to like the answer.

"What?" Aramis asked.

"Yes, he was there," said Treville. "To impersonate Bobby Madison."

Aramis' eyebrows shot up. "What?!" he said, instantly feeling his headache increase.

" _Someone_ had to," said Treville. "And he was the best choice."

Knowing what could've gone wrong made Aramis' head spin and he close his eyes. "He could've…been killed," he mumbled.

A hand touched his arm. "Calm down," said Athos' voice.

Aramis opened his eyes, finding himself breathing heavily. "He's barely a cop yet."

"He _wanted_ to do it," said Porthos. "Felt like he should try to save your life after almost killing you."

"Oh _man_ ," said Aramis, putting a hand on his dizzy head and closing his eyes again.

"We shouldn't have told you yet," said Athos, seeing that Aramis wasn't fit to handle it. "Just calm down; he survived, and so did you. Everything is fine."

Aramis' heart seemed to be doing a dance inside his chest, and it took almost a full minute for it to go back down to normal.

The others let him rest for a few minutes, before Treville asked, "Did you ever remember what you'd forgotten?"

Aramis looked at him with a frown. "What?"

"You told me that there was something you were forgetting," Treville explained. "Twice."

Aramis' eyebrows shot up. "I did?"

"I guess that's your answer!" Porthos said to Treville.

"You weren't completely coherent," Treville told Aramis. "Maybe you were imagining it."

Aramis sighed, as a feeling niggled at the back of his mind. "I don't know."

"Do you remember everything that happened while you were held prisoner?" Athos asked.

Aramis thought for a minute. "No."

"Tell us whatever you can recall," said Athos.

Aramis did, and he was found to have many gaps in his memory.

"I don't remember how I got to the park," Aramis told them.

They weren't very surprised, considering that he'd been hit on the head more than once.

Aramis looked exhausted, pale, and bruised. There was no guarantee that he would remember everything anyway, so they told him not to worry about it.

"Whatever it is, if it's important, it'll come to light somehow," said Treville.

It was disconcerting to Aramis to forget so much. He was no stranger to concussions, though, so he simply agreed and went to sleep, waking occasionally through the rest of the day but continuing to quietly rest.

That evening, d'Artagnan came back, and told Aramis of his experience.

"It was scary, but I'd do it again, if I had to," he said. "I felt like helping to save your life would help make up for almost killing you in that car accident."

Aramis sighed and ran a hand over his face. "You don't have to make up for anything. It was an accident and I'm fully recovered from it now."

D'Artagnan nodded, though everyone was sure that he'd probably never stop feeling guilty for it.

When asked if he felt able to eat anything for supper, Aramis agreed to try some soup. It went down all right without making him feel _too_ sick, and everyone was relieved to see that he was doing better.

Dr. Harris told him that he could probably go home the next morning, and Aramis went to sleep dreaming about his own comfortable bed.

Odd dreams assailed Aramis through the night, and he woke up filled with anxiety and covered with sweat.

"What's wrong?" Porthos asked him.

Aramis wasn't even sure; he just felt very off. He raised a shaky hand to run through his hair, and took a deep breath to fill suddenly-starved lungs.

Treville touched his arm. "What is it?"

Aramis' heart was beating too fast; he could feel it through his shirt. "I dunno," he slurred, feeling lightheaded and breathless. "Something's wrong."

Aramis was well-known for saying that he was fine no matter what, so those words almost induced heart attacks in everyone in the room.

Athos reached over to hit the nurse call button, and d'Artagnan ran out of the room to fetch a doctor.

Porthos grabbed Aramis by the arms. "Tell us what's wrong!" he said.

Aramis blinked, feeling like his brain was going to fall out of his head. His concussion-induced headache spiked and he groaned, closing his eyes.

The hands on his arms tightened, but sounds decreased in volume.

"He's passing out, lie him down," a female voice suddenly said.

Voices and sounds faded into the distance for a few minutes, and Aramis abruptly found himself lying flat with a blood pressure cuff squeezing his arm. He managed to open his eyes, and found Porthos clutching his other hand. "What?" he managed to say.

"Keep still," said Constance.

Aramis obeyed, trying not to see the scared looks on his friend's faces.

"BP is high," Constance said, pulling off the cuff and sticking a pulse monitor on his finger.

Everyone wanted to ask 'how high?' but they didn't want to distract her or get in her way.

Constance looked at the monitor that the readings transferred themselves to, just as d'Artagnan came back in with Dr. Harris.

"Vitals?" Harris asked.

"BP 145/100, pulse 125, respirations 22," said Constance, before pushing the wheeled monitor out of the way.

Harris took out his stethoscope and stuck the ends in his ears. "What's going on, Aramis?" he asked.

"I dunno," Aramis said, flinching when the cold metal touched his chest. His head was pounding and he closed his eyes against the pain.

Harris listened for a few seconds before saying to Constance, "Bring an EKG machine in here and a heart monitor."

Without a word, she ran out of the room.

Aramis' friends nervously shared glances when it appeared that there was something wrong with Aramis other than his concussion.

Harris removed the stethoscope and stuck it into his pocket before grabbing his penlight and shining it into Aramis' eyes.

The bright light hurt Aramis' head even more and he made a sound of pain.

Constance returned and quickly hooked Aramis up to the EKG.

"Get a phlebotomist up here stat," Harris told her next, before unwrapping the bandage around Aramis' head.

Again, Constance ran out the door.

"What's going on?" Porthos finally couldn't stop himself from asking.

"He has no skull fracture or hematoma," said Harris, as he checked the stitches. "We checked when he was brought in. His concussion is healing, as I can tell by his pupils. By his vitals, it would sound like he has sepsis but he has no fever or evidence of infection."

Aramis moved his other hand over his heart, which was still beating too fast.

"Tell me what you feel," Harris said, as he turned off the EKG and studied the graph.

"Lightheaded," Aramis told him. "Nervous."

"I can imagine," Harris told him.

"No," Aramis said. "Before. I woke sweaty, shaky with anxiety."

Harris frowned at that, but before he could say anything, Constance and the phlebotomist came in and he took a piece of paper off her tray to fill out with Aramis' info. "I want the works, and I want it rushed," he told her.

Everyone watched as she inserted a needle into Aramis' arm and filled five tubes with his blood before leaving the room.

"How does that look?" Treville asked, gesturing to the EKG report.

"Abnormal rhythm," Harris told him, before looking at Aramis. "What were you doing before this came over you?"

"He was asleep," Athos answered for him.

"Nightmare?" said Harris, as he hooked Aramis up to the heart monitor. "Could it be a panic attack, Aramis?"

Aramis shook his aching head. "No."

Harris looked at the heart monitor screen, seeing Aramis' heart rate remaining steady around 125, until it jumped to 130.

"Can you give him somethin' to bring that down?" Porthos nervously said.

Harris shook his head. "I can't give him anything until I know what's causing it."

"It's like that other time," d'Artagnan suddenly said. "When his heart freaked out after taking cold medicine."

Everyone looked at him.

"I haven't taken anything but my vitamin D all week," Aramis told them.

"It's possible that it's being caused by one of the medications in your IV. Just try to remain calm," said Harris.

Aramis tried, but it wasn't easy…for any of them.

Fifteen minutes passed before Harris was paged and headed out of the room. He came back in with three pieces of paper and a syringe, which he quickly injected into Aramis' IV port. "When and _why_ did you start taking your thyroid medicine again?!"

"What?" Aramis asked.

"Your hormones have all gone in the wrong direction, throwing you into hyperthyroidism," Harris said. "You're on the verge of what is called a 'thyroid storm' which is very dangerous! How long have you been taking the pills?"

Aramis stared at him in confusion. "I haven't…I haven't taken _any_."

Harris looked at the paper again. "Your T3—the active hormone—is sky high. That would only happen in a hypothyroid patient if they were taking too high of a dose…that _already_ happened to you, which is why I had you stop taking the pills until your TSH level gets too high again."

The feeling that he'd forgotten something niggled at Aramis' mind again and he frowned.

"What's wrong?" Harris asked, watching the heart monitor, which was increasing.

"The pills," Aramis said. "I had them in my pocket when I was abducted."

"Why?" Porthos asked.

"I was taking an old bottle home from work," Aramis said. "Since I figured I'd have to start out again at the lower dose and I usually take it at home before I come into work anyway." A wave of dizziness swept over Aramis and he made a sound of distress, closing his eyes and putting a shaking hand over his face.

Concerned hands immediately touched him, but Aramis felt like he was floating. His heartbeat seemed to drown out everything that he could hear, and voices sounded like they were in a tunnel.

"There were no pills on him in the ER," he managed to hear Harris say, though it sounded far away.

Those words instantly brought back Aramis' lost memory. "He took 'em," he slurred.

"Who?" asked Treville.

"Biff," Aramis answered. He opened his eyes, but the room was suddenly spinning. "Made me...take some."

"What?!" Porthos exclaimed.

"How many?" Harris asked.

Aramis tried to blink his vision back into focus, but it didn't work, so he closed his eyes. "Dunno."

Harris dashed out the door and shouted for a nurse to notify the ICU that they were bringing up a new patient, before he dashed back over to Aramis and grabbed the IV pole so he could attach it to the bed. "If any of you believe in God, then start praying. I need to know how many pills they gave him, so find out if they found the bottle on Madison's body."

Everyone was stunned.

"Is there a chance that this could be fatal?" Athos asked.

Harris solemnly nodded. "If his body goes into a thyroid storm, it could be."

Constance and a few other nurses ran into the room, and she kicked up the brakes on the end of the bed so they could move it.

Porthos grabbed Aramis' hand, unwilling for him to go anywhere without him. "Aramis!" he exclaimed.

They received no answer, though Aramis moved his head slightly, eyes still closed.

The bed was wheeled out and quickly pushed down the halls. As they approached the ICU door, Harris suddenly said, "None of you can come inside."

Porthos tightened the grip on Aramis' hand. "But—!"

Treville grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him away. "Let go."

"No!" Porthos exclaimed, holding Aramis' hand even tighter.

"Let them take care of him!" Treville exclaimed, yanking him again. "We'll see him soon!"

Athos grabbed Porthos' hand and pried it away from Aramis', and they all watched as their friend was pushed through the doors.

"Aramis!" Porthos brokenly whispered.

TBC

For anyone who is confused or didn't read my other modern stories, Aramis has hypothyroidism, which happens when the thyroid doesn't make enough hormones. In 'Trapped', he had a cold and took medicine for it, which can react with a _hyper_ thyroid patient (too much hormone). Aramis' hypothyroid medicine was too high of a dose at the time, which he didn't realize and is actually a common thing to happen, since it's not always easy to find the perfect dose. A too-high dose can make a hypothyroid person temporarily hyper instead, until the dose is adjusted. Aramis has not been taking his hypo medicine since then, because he won't need it until his body recovers from the hyper state and goes back to being hypo. Biff's men giving Aramis 4 pills—which is 4 times what he usually took—is a massive overdose, especially since he's not currently hypo to begin with, until his hormones go back to how they were before 'Trapped'. A thyroid storm is a real condition, caused when the hormone level is massively high, and it can indeed be deadly.


	4. Chapter 4

Aramis didn't even notice that his bed had stopped moving, and was startled when an oxygen mask was placed over his face.

"Aramis," said a voice. "Stay awake."

 _Dr. Harris,_ Aramis realized. "Okay," he mumbled. He couldn't open his eyes and had no interest in doing so, until he suddenly felt a prick in his right arm. "Ow," he said, even though it didn't really hurt.

"I'm sorry," came Harris' voice again.

Aramis pried his eyes open, confused to find himself in a different room with more people hurrying around. He watched as a nurse brought in a new IV bag, which was attached the new port. "Nuther one?" he slurred.

"Yes, another IV," said Harris.

"Don' like 'em in my right arm," Aramis said, eyes sliding shut.

Harris knew that very well. Years before, a young phlebotomist had taken blood from Aramis' right arm but had punctured the other side of the vein, leaving Aramis with a massive bruise that had spread halfway down his forearm and halfway up his upper arm. He hadn't been able to move it for a week and the pain had kept him awake at night. It had taken nearly a month for the last bit of the bruising to fade, and from then on, he never let them take blood from his dominant arm.

"I know, Aramis," said Harris, as he adjusted the oxygen level and straightened the mask on his patient's face. "But you already have an IV in the left."

"Oh," Aramis said, eyes still closed. Sounds faded into the background after that, and though he was still awake, he stopped responding to voices.

Harris placed a standing order for Aramis' thyroid hormones to be checked every hour, and he prayed himself for God to spare Aramis' life.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Scour the park; if anyone finds the bottle, I need to know immediately!" Treville said into his phone. "I'll be calling back every five minutes." He hung up and took a deep breath before looking at the others.

Porthos was pacing, unable to stay still. Athos was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and d'Artagnan—poor inexperienced d'Artagnan—was sitting in a chair staring into space with a shocked expression. Treville briefly wondered if the young man would mentally survive the insanity of working with them.

"Call them back," said Porthos.

"It hasn't even been a minute," said Athos, his calm voice not betraying his inward fear.

Porthos put both hands on his head, feeling like he was about to explode with anxiety. "If they don't find the bottle and it's still in Biff's pocket, we'll never know how many they gave Aramis!"

"We still might not," said Athos. "Aramis said that it was an old bottle…he likely doesn't even remember how many were still in it."

"We'll have an idea though," said Treville. "Aramis took some before they changed his dosage, and if the bottle is found with say twenty in it and it originally held thirty…"

"It might only have _five_ in it, for all we know," said Porthos. "They might've shoved half the bottle down his throat!"

"Or more," d'Artagnan whispered.

Porthos put his hands on his head again and continued pacing.

Treville called the precinct after another minute, but the dispatcher had no news.

Harris came out to see them twenty minutes later. "He's no worse," he reported. "He's on another IV medication to counter the levothyroxine overdose, but we won't know if it's enough until we check his hormone levels again, which will be done every hour. His level could get worse despite the medicine if they gave him a lot of the pills."

"Why did it take nearly two days for this to happen?" said Porthos. "When people OD on something, it's usually really fast."

Harris sighed. "There are two thyroid hormones in the blood; T4 and T3. T4 is the stored hormone and T3 is the active one. Levothyroxine is synthetic T4, so when Aramis takes his pill, the hormone stores itself and is converted to T3 by the liver. Levo overdoses usually start showing symptoms two days later since it takes that long for the conversion to happen and affect the blood's T3 level."

"So if his T4 is converting to too much T3," said Treville. "Then you can tell the magnitude of the impending OD by what the T4 still is?"

Harris nodded. "Very smart observation. Yes…if his T4 level was normal right now, then there would be no reason for worry, as all the converting would've already occurred…but it's not. His T4 is still too high, indicating that there's more converting to T3 to come."

"So are you saying that he's really gonna have this 'thyroid storm'?" said Porthos.

"His next test results will tell more," said Harris. "Once we see how they change compared to his earlier test. If his levels are better, then he may avoid it."

"Can we see Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked.

"The answer should be 'no', but I can always say that you're cops and threatened me," Harris answered with a smile. He motioned for them to follow him, and once they got to Aramis' bed, Harris said, "Be very quiet, for my sake as well as yours!"

Everyone nodded and quietly approached Aramis, whose eyes were closed. The heart monitor was silent but the line was bouncing very quickly, at a rate of 135. The oxygen mask on Aramis' face was a frightening sight, and the noises emitted by the IV poles on either side of the bed overlapped each other in an annoying pattern.

Harris looked at Treville. "The bottle hasn't showed up?"

Treville sighed. "Not yet."

Harris echoed the sigh.

"Can his concussion complicate matters?" Athos asked.

Harris nodded. "Very much; there's a chance that his symptoms are worse because of it."

"You mean that maybe the thyroid thing might not be as bad as it seems?" Porthos asked.

"It's possible," said Harris. "Concussions and thyroid storms share similar symptoms: headache, dizziness, passing out."

"But not _that_ ," said d'Artagnan, pointing at the heart monitor.

Everyone watched as it kept up its steady speed of 135, before bouncing up to 140 and back down again.

"No," Harris verified. "Not that."

Treville quietly headed out of the room and called the police station, who radioed all the men searching the park.

"Nothing yet," the dispatcher told him.

Harris let them stay with Aramis, and after an hour was up, he came to take blood from his patient.

Everyone watched as Harris prodded the veins on the top of Aramis' left hand, since he couldn't take blood from the crooks of his elbows with the IVs in the way. "Porthos," Harris said. "Hold his arm down in case this wakes him up."

Porthos reached over and obeyed.

Harris carefully slid the needle in, sparing a glance at Aramis afterwards.

Aramis' head moved slightly, but he didn't react otherwise.

Filling the tube didn't take long, and Harris slid the needle out and taped a piece of cotton over the hole. "I'll be right back," he said, taking the tube and leaving the room.

"Wha—?"

Everyone looked at Aramis, and found his eyes open.

"How you feelin'?" Porthos asked.

Aramis raised his right arm towards the oxygen mask on his face, but hesitated when he felt the IV in his arm.

Athos grabbed his wrist and lowered it back down to the bed. "No touching," he said.

"Wha' 'appened?" Aramis slurred.

"Biff force-fed you some of your thyroid pills," said Treville. "Do you remember how many?"

Aramis blinked. "He did?"

"That's what you told us," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis blinked a few times. "Oh yeah." He raised a hand again, this time towards his head. Athos gently pushed it back down.

"How many pills, Aramis?" Athos asked, when their sick friend said nothing more.

"I dunno," Aramis mumbled.

"Think!" Porthos exclaimed. "Your life depends on it!"

Aramis looked at him. "I'm…confused," he said.

"Tell us what was happening when Biff gave you the pills," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis yawned before saying, "Wasn't Biff."

Everyone's eyebrows shot up.

"Who was it?" said Treville.

Aramis gave no answer, closing his eyes.

Treville grabbed him by the upper arms and gave him a shake. "Aramis, look at me!"

Aramis' eyes shot open. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it!" he exclaimed, still in a state of confusion.

In different circumstances, everyone would've laughed at his words, but not this time.

"Aramis," said Treville. "Someone gave you an overdose of your thyroid medicine. If it was too much, you can die. We need to know how many pills you were given!" 

Aramis stared at him before he seemed to gain some clarity. His breathing visibly sped up and his gaze shifted to the side as he appeared to think.

D'Artagnan looked at the heart monitor, and nudged Porthos. They all cringed when they saw Aramis' heart rate pass 145. Whether it was due to his condition or fear from Treville's words, they weren't sure.

"They were ready to move me," Aramis suddenly said. "But I wasn't very mobile. They must've thought the pills were painkillers; that it would be easier to deal with me if I took some." He frowned. "I was woozy, dazed."

No one doubted it.

"Did they say anything, Aramis?" Treville asked. "Tell us what they said."

Aramis thought hard, tightly closing his eyes.

" _Hey, drink this."_

 _Aramis had no idea what was going on, and his thirsty body reacted to the water by quickly drinking it. He felt the pills go down and his eyes popped open. "What was in that?!" he asked._

" _Four of your pills," said Jim. "We gave you extra because we don't wanna carry your hide all over the place."_

"Four," Aramis said, opening his eyes. "They gave me four."

D'Artagnan turned around to bolt towards the door, only to collide with Dr. Harris as he came back in.

"They gave 'im four pills, doc!" Porthos exclaimed.

Harris blinked. "Two hundred micrograms, then." He headed to the bed. "Are you sure, Aramis?"

Aramis tiredly blinked. "That's what they said. Am I gonna die?'

Harris shook his head. "No, Aramis, you're not gonna die."

Everyone in the room nearly fainted from relief; Porthos had to actually grip the bed rail when his knees turned weak.

"So far, the medicine we're giving him is helping," Harris said, looking at Treville. "His levels only raised a little. I'll raise the dose and hopefully his hormone levels will start coming down."

"Thank God!" Treville whispered.

"Who gave you the pills, Aramis?" Porthos asked.

Aramis had closed his eyes, but he reopened them when the doctor shot the contents of a syringe into one of his IV ports. "I dunno."

"Some of Madison's men were killed," said Athos. "Maybe they're on one of the bodies." He took out his phone and dialed the medical examiner, putting it on speaker.

"Hello?"

"Matt? It's Athos. Can you check through the possessions belonging to the bodies of Madison's men? We need to know if there's a pill bottle."

"Sure, hold on. I didn't sort through everything yet."

Everyone waited with bated breath.

"Yeah I have a bottle here with Aramis' name on it. How did _that_ happen?"

"How many are in it?" Porthos asked.

"Um…" they heard the pills rattle as the coroner shook it to see them better. "There's fourteen in here."

"Does that sound about right, Aramis?" Treville asked, knowing that it was possible for the men to have lied to him.

Aramis appeared to think. "I think so. They said four," he reiterated.

"Thanks, Matt," said Athos. "Can you have someone run it over to Dr. Harris?"

"Will do."

Athos hung up and they stared at Aramis, who had closed his eyes in sleep.

"Is this kinda thing the norm for him?" d'Artagnan suddenly asked. "Since I met you guys, he's been in the hospital what, five times? None of _you_ guys have!"

"Where do you think all this gray hair came from?" Treville asked, pointing to his head. "We _all_ have gray hair thanks to him!"

"But _he_ doesn't!" said Porthos, gesturing to Aramis' dark, wavy locks. "You better start looking in the mirror, d'Artagnan, mark my words!"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

True to Dr. Harris' word, Aramis' extremely-high thyroid levels began to come down and they transferred him out of the ICU the next morning.

Aramis was alert once more, and his heart rate had gone back down to normal. "Where's d'Artagnan?" he asked, after waking.

"He went to buy some hair dye," Porthos told him.

Aramis blinked. "Hair dye? For who?"

"You," Porthos answered. "Your hair turned gray overnight. Doc said it's a common thing when the thyroid hormones get so high."

Aramis' eyes popped open and his jaw dropped. "What?!" he exclaimed, raising both hands to his hair despite the IV in each arm. His heartbeat sped up.

"Porthos!" Treville and Athos both exclaimed.

"Whoa, whoa, I'm jokin'!" Porthos hurried to assure their sick friend. He stood and grabbed Aramis' arms, lowering them back down. "I'm sorry! I figured you'd know it was a joke."

Aramis took a deep breath. "Not funny! My hair is a celebrity in itself! The day it turns gray is the day that I…that I…"

"Dye it?" said Athos.

"Hrumph. Yes."

Porthos chuckled.

D'Artagnan came in a few seconds later, and it turned out that he'd only gone to the cafeteria to fetch breakfast.

Aramis still had a headache from his concussion and his thyroid levels were slow to drop, so Harris kept him in the hospital until the next day, when he let him go mid-afternoon.

As was the hospital's policy, he was brought to the door in a wheelchair. Porthos and Athos held onto his arms as they walked out the door, to guide him to Treville's SUV.

"I hope it's a long time before I end up in _there_ again," said Aramis. "I could _really_ use a few months of living in my apartment like a normal person."

"I hope you _never_ end up in there again!" said Porthos, squeezing his arm as they walked.

Abruptly, the last thing they expected suddenly happened: gunfire erupted around them, with bullets ricocheting off nearby cars. One of the bullets came close to Aramis' head, and Porthos yanked him down to the ground so fast that he smacked the side of his knee on the pavement.

Aramis raised a hand to his head. "They shot my hair!"

Treville roughly grabbed him and looked him over. "Are you hit?!"

"No," Aramis answered.

Athos and Porthos were at either end of the car that they were crouched behind, guns at the ready.

Treville grabbed d'Artagnan. "Protect Aramis."

Aramis made a face. "I don't need protecting."

"Shut up!" said Porthos, peeking around the car.

"I seeeee you!" a voice shouted, before a bullet hit the headlight.

"It's Biff Madison," said Athos, unnecessarily.

"You killed my brother!" Madison shouted. "None of you will get out of here alive!"

Treville quickly called the police station and requested backup. "No sirens!" he said. "I don't want him to hear them coming."

The dispatcher acknowledged him and hung up.

"A prison riot killed him," Treville shouted back. "That was not our doing!"

"He would be alive if you hadn't _thrown_ him in there!" was the reply, with three more bullets hitting the car.

"Prison is the punishment for the laws that you've broken!" Aramis shouted, before closing his eyes and going, "Oooooh," as he put a hand on his aching head.

D'Artagnan took hold of him. "Shush," he said.

All of the others gave their injured friend a concerned glance before refocusing their attention on trying to figure out where Madison was.

"How would you feel if it was _your_ brother?!" Madison exclaimed.

"Heartbroken," Treville answered. "But I would have to accept the fact that it was his own fault for doing wrong."

More bullets hit the car.

"I saw him," said Athos.

"Do you have a shot?" Treville asked.

"No," said Athos. "He's hiding behind an ice cream truck."

"Mmm," said Aramis. "I could do with some ice cream right now."

D'Artagnan gave him an incredulous look, but he noticed that the others didn't even acknowledge his statement, well-used to Aramis' flippant comments.

A text suddenly came into Treville's phone from the police chief.

 _We're here. Where is he and where are you?_

Treville answered, and they all waited.

Seconds later, a hail of gunshots sounded. They all flinched, before realizing that none of them were aimed in their direction. Running footsteps were suddenly heard and they all turned to see Madison coming from their right, with blood running down his arm and his gun pointed right at them.

Before anyone had a chance to react, d'Artagnan raised the gun that he'd only used so far to shoot targets, and fired, hitting Madison in the chest.

With a cry of shock, Madison flew backwards and crashed to the ground.

Treville, Athos, and Porthos jumped to their feet and ran over, with Athos kicking Madison's gun away before he could fire it.

Madison's eyes were open as he gasped for air; blood was already covering his shirt.

D'Artagnan and Aramis slowly walked over.

Madison looked at d'Artagnan. "How did you…know…the code…?"

Everyone looked at d'Artagnan, having completely forgotten that he'd given the correct password that Madison had asked for when he'd thought him to be his brother.

"I read your lips on a surveillance video," d'Artagnan said, cringing at the sight of the man dying by his hand.

Madison gave him an incredulous look before he laughed, a wheezing, wet sound that cause a dribble of blood to drip down one side of his mouth. "At least I…wasn't without my brother…for very long…" he said, before his eyes closed and he took his last breath.

An ice-cold feeling shot down d'Artagnan's spine. "Ohhhhh," he moaned, turning around and suddenly leaning against Aramis.

Aramis, still a little dizzy and off-balance, stumbled a step as he turned and wrapped an arm around him. "The first kill is always the hardest," he said, with sympathy.

Porthos grabbed Aramis on the other side and walked them both over to the closest car so they could sit on the bumper.

D'Artagnan had his head lowered as he gasped a few times.

"If you're gonna be sick," said Aramis. "Please aim _away_ from me."

His words got a barked laugh from d'Artagnan, who shook his head. "I'm okay," he shakily said. "I'm okay."

Porthos squeezed his shoulder and headed back to the others.

"No you're not," said Aramis. "And it's _normal_ to not be okay. The first time _I_ killed someone, I cried."

D'Artagnan was surprised to hear that, and looked up. "Really?"

Aramis sighed. "Yes. I was raised to respect life, and couldn't deal with what I had done…but if I _hadn't_ done it, I and other innocents would've been killed instead. I saved people by firing that shot, and that's what you did today; if you hadn't fired, _he_ would've, and one of us would be dead instead. You didn't hesitate, and we're all grateful."

D'Artagnan looked away as he thought about it. "You're right." He sighed and nodded, before reluctantly glancing at the body again. "Is it wrong to be glad that he's with his brother now?"

Aramis smiled slightly and put an arm around his shoulders. "No, it's not wrong at all."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hmm...'I know nothing'," said Porthos. "That phrase sounds so familiar."

"Hogan's Heroes," said Aramis. "Schultz, the German guard."

"Oh yeah!" Porthos laughed as he flipped the TV channels on the remote in Aramis' living room. "That's right!"

"What show is that?" said d'Artagnan.

Aramis' face displayed shock. "You've never watched Hogan's Heroes?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Is it new?"

"Not at _all_ ," said Aramis, taking the glass of iced coffee that Athos handed him. "It's from the 60s."

"The 60s!" said d'Artagnan. "So it's ancient! Why would you watch something so old?"

"Haven't you ever watched Star Trek?" asked Athos, as he handed out the other glasses.

"The original?" said d'Artagnan. "Of course."

"Well then," said Aramis. "Star Trek is only one year younger. Hogan's Heroes was a comedy set in WWII Germany. The main characters were prisoners of war who foiled the Nazis at every turn. It was one of the funniest shows ever made. Schultz was a German guard who would say 'I know nothing!' when he found out about one of the Heroes' schemes. The German kommandant of the camp was a bumbling moron…it was so funny!"

"Can we watch it?" said d'Artagnan.

"Good idea!" said Porthos. He found it on Amazon Prime and clicked on the first episode.

A mini-bag of Fritos sailed through the air and landed on d'Artagnan's lap.

"Get comfortable," Aramis said to him, opening his own bag that he'd grabbed out of the end table next to his spot. "We're gonna be watching this for hours!"

D'Artagnan smiled and opened his chips.

THE END


End file.
